The Black Virgin – A Femdom Fairy Tale

Illustration by Sardax

The Black Virgin

Once upon a time, a long long time ago, in a far and distant land was a remote little kingdom, for it was indeed a King-Dom, ruled for all time by Kings. The King of this land wished for a child, a son who would grow up to rule in his place. At last his wish was granted, (well sort of), he rushed to the bedside of his beautiful Queen and held the newborn babe up to the sky thanking the heavens for they had smiled upon him. Suddenly, a little grimace appeared on his face, which soon grew black – for it was a girl.

And thus, was the sad beginning of the little princess Hedda. Her father never again looked her fully in the face, for it always reminded him of his loss. She soon grew in to the most stunning girl. Yet, what she had gained in beauty, she had lost in virtue.

As she approached her womanhood, she began to realise that she did not have physical strength, therefore she would have to survive with a better strategy. She had a different kind of sway, she could flutter her eyelashes and men would flock to her, a few kind works and they would try to please her – and her tears, at sight of her tears they would do absolutely anything to make her smile once more. She decided she would cultivate and develop all her female charms to entrap men. She knew the eternal secret that her sex was her power, and she would rule supreme.

Her favourite pastime was the hunt, she rode every morning and what a glorious figure she made sat upon her magnificent white horse. Yet what she loved to pursue was men. It was a fine sport, and like foxes, she would hunt and then devour them, leaving then scarred and scurrying from the battlefield of desire. Her beauty was so beguiling that no man could fail but to fall under her spell, her delicate white skin, her deep red luscious lips set against the frame of her long black tresses. Among the townspeople she was known as the Black Virgin.

At the castle there was always good sport to be had with the palace servants. Accusations could be followed by swift remonstrations. To spend the afternoon with perspiration around her collar from beating the errant was truly delightful. It set alight her sprit. Once a brave boy protested,
“But I am innocent, this is not just, Ma’am”
She looked into his eyes and laughed “Justice! Justice was created by men in the vain belief that they could impose their ways onto the world. Your fate lies with fortune, and like nature, she is a woman, with a woman’s temperament.”

One day her father announced it was time she wed – he would have a grandson and heir. He was not so callous a man that he would choose a husband for her, however he had chosen some suitable suitors, and she may meet with each of them and make her choice. The princess smiled to herself how delightful a task – she would make sure that after meeting her once, none would ever bear to be in her presence again. Alone in her chamber, gazing into her mirror she announced, “I shall be more bitter than death – even their god cannot save them.”

Her first Prince stood gazing vainly at himself in a long gilt mirror, self-assuredly admiring his good looks. Approaching him, she saw the desire in his face and smiled showing him the desire in hers. She gazed into his longing eyes – slowly their faces came closer and closer together, and for the first time she rested her luscious red lips upon his boyish plump mouth. Suddenly, she bit deeply into his lower lip, his eyes opened widely instantly watering, instinctively he tried to jolt away from her but she held him fast. She looked into his eyes holding him for just a few delicious moments longer – for him an eternity. She tasted the iron of his blood in her mouth then freed him, putting her hand to her mouth to look at his sanguine blood as he fled.

The Princess was beginning to find her suitors quite tiresome as it was too easy a task to send them back hence where they had come with their tails between their legs – one had even cried. Today she must meet with yet another, on meeting him her sharp eyes fell upon a most ordinary and quiet young man. Immediately deciding to go for the kill, she literally thrust herself upon him, pinning him up against the chamber wall where they met. She felt a certain thrill feeling his rapid breaths and pounding heart against her. He only blushed and looked to the floor.

“Do you think one must suffer for love?” she whispered into his ear.
Barely audibly, he replied, “For true love, yes.”
“Then you must suffer to please me” she said as she slipped her hand inside his tabard and pinched one of his nipples, harder and harder she twisted and pinched. At the same time, her other hand slipped down to beneath his legs pressing down hard on to his manhood. She expected it to shrivel away – and yet it grew. The more she hurt him, the more it throbbed and hardened. Perplexed by this unexpected result and refusing to be beaten, she pushed him to the floor and pounced on top of him like a feral cat toying with its prey. She ripped open his upper garments and began to bite his neck and upper body. Sitting up on him she tore her long sharp nails down his flesh waiting for him to smart and curse at her. And yet, he looked entranced and still she felt his manhood throbbing beneath her. Furious and defeated she stood up and after glaring at him, stormed from the hall.

Preparing for her ride the next morning this same boy appeared “Let me ride along side you, your majesty, as your servant?” he requested.
“As my servant, of course,” she replied.
And so together they rode out into the wild forests of the kingdom. She was a sight to behold as her body rose and fell with the horse’s gallop. Her black hair and the white mane of her stallion blown backwards with the speed of the wind as it rushed passed. She seemed golden in the light of the new sun rising up afresh as though in honour of this goddess. Finally, she slowed and dismounted in a quiet break in the trees. The boy who had fought hard to keep up his chase, arrived minutes later to find her sitting on a tree stump, pink and white apple blossoms falling about her.

“My boots are muddy boy, clean them,” she barked.
Kneeling in the dirt before her he lifted one of her leather boots and slowly began to wipe it with his necktie.
“That won’t do,” she snapped, “use your mouth.”
And so, lifting the boot, he began to lick it clean with his tongue. She felt herself tingle with pleasure as she watched him working away, never taking her dark eyes from him.
“Now kiss my hand,” she ordered. He gently took her hand encased in taut leather elbow length gloves and began to slowly kiss up them making each delivery an honour, an act of total submission.
Fired with pleasure, snatching her hand away she kicked him to the ground. She sat upon him, tearing his lower garments with a fury to reveal his manhood, and lifting her layered skirts she mounted him. And so, in the morning sunlight, with the apple blossoms softly falling about her, she took her pleasure.

She had found her Prince; here was one who would not constrain her soul – who understood the darkness of her desires. And thus, the sad beginning of the Princess Hedda had led to a happy ever after – but this is all history now, or should we say her story.

in honour of Meisterin J.ZarA